(a/n): I am so excited for this chapter, guys! It took a lil longer than I would have liked, but here ya go. XD I already have the next chapter mapper out so it should be a little faster! But with Thanksgiving around the corner, I may wind up on the backburner again. XD We shall see!

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

surviving the riptide

"Oh, you just did so fabulously, Ceres," Ivoree says, his lofty voice sounding more like an echo in my ear. His heels click against the ground as he strides across my room, his hands thrown up theatrically as he does a little spin. "I've never been to the Mansion before, but, God, it was so grand...and you looked so lovely, really, so much grace and poise. Your head was high and you looked quite respectable, really quite respectable. And to think I had been worried..."

I tune him out to the best of my ability, which, as it turns out, isn't too hard given the fact that my ears are ringing. We've just returned to the medical wing, where I will continue to stay until we leave in two days. The ride between here and the Mansion had consisted of this very same one-sided conversation. Ivoree had rambled the whole way back, on and on with various praises of how I did, while Turquoise was complimentary but kept mostly quiet. Perhaps this had to do with the fact that Ivoree wouldn't even let her get a word in. It's not like it mattered, honestly. I'd tuned them all out, only sometimes nodding or making a humming noise when I was directly addressed. Words failed me. They still fail me.

As Ivoree is droning on and on about something to do with my successful meeting, my eyes skim the room, and settle towards the metal table which had harbored all of those outlandish gifts. They're gone. I imagine they're packed away on the train by now, hopefully buried so deep that, when I inevitably throw them aside, I won't ever have to see them again. There is, however, a large bouquet of white roses on the table in a glass vase. It doesn't take an extensive imagination to figure out who sent them. Still, my blood curdles as I recount my meeting with President Snow, and all he had unveiled to me...all he had said. I want to grab that vase full of those damned white roses and I want to throw them out the window. I want the glass to shatter across the ground and the roses to shatter, too.

My teeth grind together.

Turquoise is talking now, though I'm doing a fairly good job at tuning her out, as well. She's talking about clothes that are arranged for me in the dresser in the room; nothing too fancy, just pajamas to sleep in and some comfortable wear to tie me over until my Interview and the day I leave. She's smiling as she's talking, but all I see are her full lips moving. Her words are so muffled, as if I were underwater. I can't bring myself to hear what she has to say, not fully. All I can hear is President Snow's calm voice in my head. All I see is him so coolly showing Finnick and I together...and then how Seneca Crane had tried to buy exclusivity to my entire being. Snow claimed it was for chivalry, but what the hell could that word mean to him? Maybe Seneca Crane's intentions are pure and he wants my exclusive attentions to keep me out of those inner circles Snow mentioned. But he's still a man who had met with me in secret on the rooftop of the Tribute Center. He still bought me fine gifts in the Arena to secure my survival and victory. I highly doubt what he wants in return has anything to do with being gentlemanly.

His demeanor didn't convey malice. He seemed quite flushed and almost innocent when he had smiled at me on the rooftop, but Capitolians are wonderful actors. I'd deluded myself into wanting their love and admiration once, after all.

Then again, what's the alternative? Be a slave to the rest of them? I feel my stomach start to twist as I think about those prospects. What it would look like to be in those inner circles. It's about power over the weak. And I am, most certainly, weak. My phantom fingers curl in defiance, but they aren't there. There's nothing there, just an empty space and a numb shoulder.

My ears are still ringing and my head is pounding, yet Ivoree hasn't stopped talking. Something is twisting in my gut, steadily rising within me. "Could...could you all leave, please?" I manage out, feeling it rising higher in the back of my throat. "I'm really tired."

Ivoree looks a bit startled, though an understanding sheen reflects in his eyes. "Oh, yes, of course," he says. "Sorry. I really shouldn't have kept you. You must be so very tired, after all."

I try swallowing it down, but it's almost choking me now. All I can manage to Ivoree is a stiff nod.

He seems to understand my discomfort, even if not fully. "Alright, Turquoise, let's get along, now," he says, clapping his hands. "We need to leave our stunning Victor to rest, hmm? We'll get you back to Galeria and I, I think, shall get myself a coffee." He looks back to me. His expression falls, no doubt a little perturbed by how, no doubt, rough I'm looking. "Somebody will be around to bring you dinner."

Turquoise glances between Ivoree and I, her eyes eventually settling onto me. "You looked lovely today. I'll let Galeria know how well you did," she says, consolingly. She reaches out her long filed nails to touch my shoulder but I flinch away. Thankfully she pulls her hand back. "Are you sure you won't be needing help changing?"

"Just go," I manage.

Ivoree claps his hands again and the two depart through the door. Turquoise exits first, with Ivoree following after, but my Escort does cast a concerned glance over his shoulder at me before he disappears behind the door. I imagine he'll run off to report back to my Mentors, but I don't care about that right now. Once that door is shut, I spin around and lunge towards the attached bathroom. I practically tear the door right off the walls, just barely making it to the toilet. I fall down to my knees. They ache and make a low popping noise on impact to the hard, cold floor. I grip the toilet's edges, lurching forward as I release the tea and pastries into the porcelain bowl.

My hair is loose and falling in my face, but I don't care. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. As I'm kneeling there, retching out that foul, horrible food that the President had fed me, all I can think about is my Games. I really tried not to. I've tried. I really have, damn it, I have. I know that it's dangerous to give way to my emotions right now, with the whole world watching me and the safety of everyone I know hanging in how well I perform - especially after that enlightening meeting with President Snow. There is so much at stake and so many lives for me to consider, but how can I? I've failed so many already.

Liber. Mom. Dad. Birch. Nellie. Rust. Daisy. Myself.

Their names and their faces flash horribly across my vision as I heave aggressively. I can't seem to catch my breath, just like when I had been in the water during the Games. The black water I had swam through, desperately looking for a tunnel, when those things had used echolocation to find me. I had escaped. I had escaped, too, along with my friends when the bats chased us. I had felt out of breath as we ran. And I'd felt so dizzy and so horrible after I'd climbed the cave wall with Nellie and Rust, when we'd decided to hunt down Jason in the little corner he was trapped in.

They're all dead now.

So is Liber.

I release a pained moan as nothing else forcibly leaves my body, letting myself fall away from the toilet and leaning back against the glass wall dividing the shower to the rest of the bathroom. I try to catch my breath, but it's in little spurts, and my head is spinning. My eyes squeeze shut, trying to imagine that I'm back home in District 4. I'm not in the Capitol. I'm back in my family's house, just sick from some food poisoning. My brother will come knocking on the door any meat to tease me or to roll his eyes at me, as I lay there pathetically.

I want to believe it. I almost have to. But when my stub brushes against the cold glass wall behind me, it brings me straight back to reality. It tears me apart faster and with more ferocity than a hurricane.

Liber, Liber, Liber. I failed him most of all.

He had only been fifteen. He was just a child, barely older than Finnick was when he had been Reaped. Unlike me, he had never had any interest in the Games. Our father's past had never mattered. And my brother would always mock me for the extreme effort I put into studying the Games. He would watch over my shoulder as I took notes, studying every fine detail ranging from a strategy during the Games to how a person waved during the Parade, and he would sigh deeply and remark how pitiful I was. I hadn't thought much of it, truly, I hadn't. But how could those years rolling his eyes at me have caused him to decide to betray me?

He had tried to kill me numerous times. He left me to die with the translucent crocodile and then he had tried to kill me in the final battle in the moss cave. But why? Did he hate me so much? I raise my knees up and press my forehead between them, finding the gesture helpful in calming me down, and somehow managing to ease my breathing. But it doesn't feel like it's enough. I'm drowning. God, I'm drowning.

I rake my hand through my hair, tugging slightly, and raking my nails over my scalp; as if this will bring me back to reality. It stings, but it doesn't do anything. All I can do is sit there, trying to breathe properly, and feeling myself wheezing as that sensation rises back up into my throat. I try swallowing it down, but it just pushes back.

I don't know how long I'm in that bathroom for, alternating between sitting on the cold floor and hunching over the toilet, but the solitude I'd found myself in doesn't last. Somewhere in the far back of my cognitive awareness, I know that the door to my room has opened. I'm hunched over the toilet, heaving into it because I have nothing left to upchuck. I hear light footsteps, but I pay them no mind. Even when I can sense the presence of a person behind me, I don't turn around. I'm afraid if I do, I'll fall over.

"Oh, sweet girl," a warm voice says.

I feel old, silky fingertip son the back of my neck, as Mags gently pulls my hair out of the way - not much good that will do now. With one hand she holds my hair back and with the other she smooths her palm over my back in circular motions, until I can somewhat ground myself again. I just barely push myself away from the toilet, landing less than gracefully backwards. Mags helps me, managing to kneel down and gently bring me so I'm leaning back against the wall. She crouches beside me, pulling strands of hair out of my face.

I'm afraid to meet her eyes, so I stare firmly at the wall ahead of me, but it's blurring. I blink, then something wet slides down my cheek. Mags wipes it away gently with her thumb.

"It's alright," she says. "Just let it go."

Let what go? I've already let so many people go, what else am I supposed to release now?

I somehow manage to get a full gulp of air. "I killed him," I rasp out. "I killed him, Mags."

I feel myself ripple with the urge to vomit again, but I have nothing left inside of me, and all I can do is just sit there becoming more and more dizzy, with Mags rubbing her hands over my back consolingly. Her touch is so gentle and considerate, but I know I don't deserve it. I want to pull away from her and push myself to the other end of the bathroom, but I physically can't. Besides, Mags' hands are so kind. Although they are not what I deserve, they are what I need.

And, selfishly, I need to only consider that.

"I didn't think I was capable of that...of everything I did..." I continue. Beside me, Mags sniffs, but I can't bear to look at her. "Mags, I can't...I can't go home like this...my mom won't look at me like...my dad can barely..."

Mags leans a little closer. She carefully adjusts herself so that she is no longer crouching, but rather sitting beside me. Despite her great age, she is still a fairly flexible and mobile woman. Although she keeps close to home nowadays, I've seen her fishing down by the beach; never in a boat, but just standing there with an old fishing rod and her homemade baits. Despite her age, she is truly a woman of great strength and stability, and I find myself envying her now more than ever. "It's not your fault," she says.

It is my fault. I want to tell her that, but I know that she'll refute it, and it will become a back and forth until I can't bear it anymore. So, rather, I drift the subject a little. "He knows, Mags," I say, as my eyes start to sting more; thick beads of tears falling from me.

"President Snow?"

"I met with him today," I say. Slowly, I look beside me, and I can tell based on Mags' expression that she already knew about it. Ivoree, or Finnick, must have told her about it. Her expression shifts to sympathy, so I'm quick to look away. "He showed me footage of Finnick and I having sex."

Mags makes a low startled sound at my words, though it doesn't stir her much after. She makes no other sound, nor do I notice any prominent change in her expression from out of the corner of my eye; though there is some subtle redness in her cheeks. I've flustered her.

But I keep going. "He'll hurt him," I say. "He'll hurt everyone I have left if I don't comply. He wants me for...to sell. He says I have until after my Victory Tour to consider it, Mags. You know what happens when Victors say no. Liber is dead because of me, now I have dad, mom, Finnick, everyone else I have to think about." I finally meet Mags' gaze. "I can't protect them, not like this. I can't defend him with a spear, like I used to. I'll never even be able to fish again. My brother is gone and so is my freedom, and so is my arm. I can't hold a spear, I can't swim..."

Mags reaches out and tightly wraps her arms around me. She strokes my dirty hair and presses her chin on top of my head. A part of me wants to pull away from Mags' embrace and disappear into the wall, but I find myself leaning into it. My eyes slowly close, with tears still staining my cheeks; already feeling so sticky. "This doesn't change who you are, Ceresea," Mags says, firmly.

"But it does, Mags," I say. "How could I have ever wanted this...I was such an idiot..."

"This, too, shall pass," Mags says. "Know this, Ceres. No matter what, no matter what happens, I will be here to protect you - you and Finnick and your father, mother, all of you. I was here from the start. And I won't go anywhere, not when you need me."

That's impossible. If Snow wanted to, he could do to Mags what he had done to Neleus, and possibly hundreds of others. No one would bat an eye if Mags Flanagan were to disappear one day, for she was so old that the legacy she had as a Victor had long since waned in popularity. Now she is viewed as an old woman, scarcely given a second glance. Like the rest of us, she's a pawn. More so than that she is easily disposed of. That thought frightens me, more so than I can admit, and I don't plan on saying it out loud.

Mags holds me a little tighter, brushing her fingers through my hair and down my back until my breathing finally levels. "It gets better," she says.

I sniff, wiping my now dried and itchy eyes. "It won't stop, Mags. It'll keep going...in six months, then next year...and the year after that...and whatever Snow decides he wants from me," I say, my voice cracking.

"And you shall face none of it alone," Mags says, kissing the top of my head. "I'll see to that."

I don't reply. I want desperately to believe her, to lean fully into her embrace and be comforted by her, but nothing is for certain anymore. I'd Volunteered for the Games to protect my brother and ensure that he made it out alive. Instead, I had killed him, and my arm was torn off.

Mags sighs softly against my silence. "Now, how about we wash your hair?" she says, gently.

"There's vomit in it?" I ask hoarsely.

"Quite a bit," she says.

"Gross," I manage.

Mags chuckles. "Up now, you," she says. "Let's get it cleaned out."

It's in the midmorning when I finally get to leave the medical wing. Mags stayed with me all of last night, thankfully, so I wasn't alone when the nightmares came. She stayed with me to help wash my hair, then ate dinner with me as we watched the city lights of the Capitol, and she slept beside me in the overly large bed. She'd stir me awake when I began to thrash, then would hold me until I could fall asleep again. In a grand total, I had about four hours of actual sleep. So, naturally, I feel like shit today. Mags tried to be consoling when we first woke up. She kissed my cheeks and told me that I was a beautiful young lady. But when I looked into the mirror and saw how sallow faced I looked and how my eyes were edged with dark circles, I knew she was lying. Still, the sentiment was appreciated.

I showered this morning and changed into some comfortable clothes. I tried eating breakfast, though I struggled to keep it down. Mags eating with me helped. Then Ivoree came in to discuss the layout of my day, then he escorted me from the medical wing and to my secondary location. This is where I am now and where I shall stay until my Interview. It's the building where I had been taken for my Interview, though it is a more backstage, exclusive section, where I, as a Tribute, had never even had the opportunity to graze. As a Victor, I'm to stand in the height of luxury.

The room in question in large with walls that are a deep shade of bronze. There is a small golden chandelier above us. Its light dances off of the surface of the walls, reflecting against the bronze and giving it an almost glowing look. Across from me, the wall is lined with mirrors which are adorned by more lights, and a fine mahogany table adorned with various things of makeup. On the other side of the wall is a long light green velvet couch with an array of pillows that have diamond patterns along them; across from that couch rests two others, identical in color. There's a separate table which has a bowl of fruit on it and an array of fancy drinks, though that's not what catches my attention.

In the corner of the room stands a tall mannequin which is hidden by some plastic covering - my dress no doubt beneath it. But standing beside it is my Stylist, with a man I don't recognize beside her. I won't lie, seeing Galeria again is jarring. I had more or less mentally prepared myself to see her again, since I had been so thoroughly convinced a few days ago that I would never see her again - but seeing here now makes everything feel so real. Galeria is wearing a black leather sleeveless jumpsuit, which has golden threading that matches the golden tattoos curling and coiling around her arms. Her hair is a stunning shade of magenta, pulled back into a messy bun, and a few strands framing her long face.

When she looks at me, her expression, which had been stern and thoughtful and set to some corner on the wall, instantly softens. Without any pause, Galeria strides across the room, heels clicking against the floor, and pulls me into a tight embrace. She's so massively tall against me that I feel slightly squashed, though I lean into her embrace, all the same. My eyes close. "I told you," Galeria says as she holds me, "I don't believe in goodbyes."

I squeeze her back in return, though our reunion cannot be fully appreciated, because my eyes are shifting towards the man who had been beside her. They narrow slightly. He seems to recognize this and tries offering me a smile. He's a well dressed individual, with his style significantly subdued compared to the absolute eye sores that were Capitolian fashion. He's wearing a pair of deep purple trousers with a silver vest over a lavender button up; his cuffs are rolled up to his elbows. He's wearing some rings and bracelets that are silver and lined with various jewels, though it is far from the most outlandish thing I've ever seen. The most distinct factor the man's persona were his dark eyes, which were lined by a fine golden liner that glittered in the light.

He is a handsome man and his demeanor seems kind enough, but I know better than to judge someone based off of that. Galeria must sense the tenseness in my bones, since she pulls away and offers me a slightly amused, if not apologetic, grin. "Ceres, let me introduce you to an associate of mine," she says. "This is Cinna."

The man, Cinna, moves off of the wall and towards us. He doesn't offer his hand to me, which I appreciate, though he does bow his head a little. "It's nice to meet you," he says. "Galeria's told me a lot about you."

I try smiling back, though it feels frigid and unnatural. I'll have to work on that, given I have my Interview hours away from now...God, what a nightmare. I clear my throat and try relaxing my face, though the active effort of it makes it worse. "There's not a lot to tell," I say, which causes Galeria to laugh. "I, uh...I'm pretty uninteresting."

"I beg to differ," Cinna says.

I glance between them, noting a small, secretive glance they share. "Are you a Stylist?" I ask.

Cinna nods. "I am," he says. "Galeria and I have worked together before."

"A few collaborations here and there," she adds.

"Oh," I say. "So..." I point to the covered over mannequin. "Was that a collaborative effort?"

The two Stylists laugh together, and I can only hope it's not at my expense.

Cinna shakes his head. "No, no, I'm here for pleasure over business," he says, "though I did lend a few helpful critiques to your dress."

Galeria scoffs. "Critiques. Please," she says. "The dress is perfection, Ceres."

I stare a little longer than is necessary at the mannequin, wondering what lies beneath it, but also feeling a wave of nausea overtake me. The last time Galeria had designed me a dress had been for another Interview, when I had sat in front of all Panem and swore to myself and to everyone that I was going to protect my brother. I choose my brother. Always, I had said, and my brother had mirrored my words. Turns out, he had just been parroting me the whole time, to gain sympathy and Sponsors...but, then again, he had sounded so sincere the night before the Games, when we had sat with dad staring out the window over the Capitol.

He had told me he wanted to build things. Why would he have shared that with me if he had intended on just killing me? I wonder how long he had been planning his betrayal alongside Lamia. I also wonder how long he knew he was going to betray us both. He had seemed a little wild eyed when he had plunged his trident through the back of her neck. It hadn't seemed like a full tactical move, like it was a last minute decision. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, I suppose. He killed her, then left me for dead.

That was when that thing had grabbed me and -

I hear Galeria clearing her throat and my eyes snap back towards her.

She looks at Cinna. "Cinna, darling, could you leave me with Ceres, please?" she says, batting her long, glittering eyelashes. "I think it's time to get her fitted."

"Of course," Cinna says, looking back to me. "It was really an honor to meet you."

I open my mouth, finding myself struggling over my words for a second before I can muster anything. "You too," I say. "Thank you."

"And despite what you say, I think you're very interesting," Cinna says. He nods at Galeria. "Don't be a stranger."

Galeria rolls her eyes. "Right, off you go," she says, shooing him away.

I approach the row of mirrors as Galeria pushes him out, shutting the door behind him. I take in my reflection with a critical eye. I look clean and slightly refreshed, at the very least. The coffee I had had in my room, as well as the food, had certainly helped, though it all feels so thick and uncomfortable in my stomach. I just feel restless. And moreover, looking at myself, I find my chest tightening to the idea of what Caesar is going to ask me about. Most certainly the betrayal is inevitable, especially since it transpired right before I lost my arm - was the reason I lost it, actually.

Galeria comes up behind me. In the mirror, I can tell her expression is firming up.

I inhale a little sharply, bracing for it. "Pleasure over business, huh?"

My Stylist briefly smirks, her fair cheeks remaining untainted by any sort of revealing flush.

"Is Cinna an old headache?" I ask.

"More accurately, Cinna is only sometimes a headache. Mostly he's a valued friend," she admits, "with occasional benefits."

"One of the benefits being artistic expertise," I say, glancing towards the mannequin. "Isn't it a bit of an ulterior motive for a Stylist to help another one for a Victor's outfit?"

"Cinna is a Stylist, but not for the Games," she explains. "He's had some offers here and there, but he hasn't accepted, or directly applied to, any Tributes. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have asked for his input, but today I felt like I needed it."

"You're doubting your creation?" I ask.

"It's not about doubt," she says. "Mostly I needed a friend to talk to, but artistic expertise was a good excuse to steal him away for an hour, too."

"Sounds serious," I muse.

"How about we sit?"

I exhale.

I turn around and approach the long velvet couch, sitting down slowly. Galeria sits across from me on a plush velvet food rest, looking awkward given how small it is compared to her remarkably tall self; knees practically to her chest. She doesn't seem to mind, though, for her expression is firmly set on me, and her arms go to fold over her raised legs. "I'm going to ask you how you're feeling now," she says, somewhat casually. "And you're going to be honest with me."

"Am I?"

"You are," she says. "To the best of your ability."

I don't know how I am. A part of me feels grateful to be alive - but how could anyone not feel that way? It's only human to feel a measure of relief after surviving something so horrible, in more ways than one. What I endured in the Games was without description. Looking back on it, I can't bear to live in those memories for longer than even half a minute. When my heart starts to go faster and faster, I try to pull myself from them. Sometimes it's easy, but other times it's like those nightmares; dragging me in again and again, despite Mags' efforts to pull me back.

I survived, but my brother is dead. Liber was only a boy, who had barely experienced even an ounce of life. What should have come as a whisper came as an explosion when his time came. It ought to have been old age, with him lying back in his bed, and surrounded by his loved ones. Instead, his sister had poisoned him, and he had called out for mercy. His voice, despite my best efforts to muffle it, resounded in my head like an endless echo. His cries and his anguish as he stared up at me. He had looked so much like a boy. His eyes had swollen up and were bloodshot, and he had wept. The crocodile had emerged slowly. And when my spear lodged into his chest, killing him, the Mutt had taken him away.

Despite myself, I have to wonder if his body will be returned to District 4. Did the Mutt eat him the way it did me? Would only broken parts of Liber Rythe be returned to our District? Would my parents have a body to even bury?

This is to say, in District 4 we don't bury our dead. We cremate them, then return their ashes to the sea. But would there be a body to say goodbye to, to dress and to clean, and then to burn? The thought fills me with horror. Maybe the Mutt didn't eat Liber. But he had been submerged under the water. What if we were returned a bloated corpse?

My chest starts to heave, so I force myself back in the moment.

Galeria is still staring at me, waiting patiently.

How the hell am I? How can I respond to that?

I swallow thickly. "I'm alive," I say.

She nods. "I know," she says, waiting for more.

"Do we have to do this now?" I ask, a little colder than I'd intended.

She shrugs. "Maybe."

I exhale shakily. "Well...I killed my brother," I say.

"That wasn't your fault."

"Funny. Everyone keeps saying that," I go on. "My father can't stand to look at me. I can't blame him. I killed his son. I killed my brother. How can you trust anyone who kills a member of their own family?" I shake my head. "I keep breaking promises. Growing up, I always promised myself that I would Volunteer someday. When I was fourteen I was going to...but then Finnick was Reaped, and then my friend Mara. I didn't Volunteer for her. Harpee did...Harpee Dowe. I made my dad promise to bring Finnick home, and in return I promised to never Volunteer. But then I did when Liber was Reaped...and I promised to keep him safe, that he would be District 4's Victor, and that he could go home."

Galeria continues to look on at me, waiting to speak only after she was certain I had stopped; at least to catch myself. "He is going home," she says. "Ceres, what you did to protect yourself isn't on you. Anyone would have done the same, regardless of who the person was."

"I promised I would return him home," I say. "So why did I kill him, instead of letting him kill me?"

Her brow knits, then. "You just went through the unthinkable, Ceres. You'd lost your arm and your brother killed a little boy in front of you. There is no logical reaction to that," she says. "And you can't blame yourself for it."

Oh, but I will. I most certainly will. "I feel like I'm about to break," I say, pausing to clench and unclench my jaw. "Do you know about Finnick Odair? What he does?"

Galeria eyes me for a moment. Her back slowly straightens out, a visible stiffness in her figure. "Sure," she says. "It's not just him, you know. Cashmere Royce is very popular here in the Capitol. An old flame of mine used to be a part of her team. She talked about how Cashmere's buzzer was very active whenever she was in the Capitol. Stylists are all very aware of what goes on in a Victors' life, especially where that is concerned. Unfortunately." She presses her lips together. "The fact you're asking about that has dark implications."

"Snow wants that for me, to be apart of that ring," I explain, a mirthless laugh parting from my lips. "I have six months to think on it."

She doesn't reply, simply staring at me for a long, crippling moment.

"Maybe I should have taken you up on your offer and shaved my head," I say, half-heartedly. "Maybe then I'd be less desirable."

Galeria shakes her head. "I'm so sorry."

I rake a hand through my loose hair, pressing it then against the back of my neck as I ponder over my words. "When I was a little girl, I made my dad hold me when Ren Ambrose won his Games. I ran up on the stage and quietly commanded he hold me up...and he did," I say, softly. "I wanted what they had. What they all had. Now look at me."

"I am," she says. "And I see a strong, unyielding woman."

"Maybe," I say. "But you also see a girl who's lost her arm, her brother, and her freedom. And who now has to stand in front of the world and talk about it."

My Stylist reaches out, gently tugging my hand away from my neck so that she can hold it tightly between hers. "Don't talk to the world, or to the crowd, or even to Caesar," she says, softly. "Talk to me, okay? Look for me in the crowd, or even close your eyes and imagine I'm right there."

"I can be honest with you," I say. "If I'm honest out there, Snow will hurt who I have left. I can't be emotional right now. I can't afford it."

Galeria opens her mouth to reply, but there's a knock at the door. Before either of us can reply, Ivoree has entered holding a tablet in his hands. He seems to read the room, as he stares for a short, quiet moment. "Should...I come back later?" he asks.

Galeria straightens. "Are they outside?"

"Indeed, indeed, they are," Ivoree says. "But I can make them wait."

My Stylist shakes her head. "I think it's time to introduce you to your new team," Galeria says, her smile returning. "As a Victor, you've been assigned some fresh blood. Don't worry, I hand-selected your loyal attendants. I know and trust them personally." She nods at Ivoree. "Send them in."

Ivoree disappears behind the door, but is soon replaced by three new people. I recognize one instantly as Turquoise, who is now wearing a long frilly bright pink dress with various layers of sparkly floral fabric. She offers me a warm, familiar smile. The other two I do not know. One is a young man who looks roughly in his twenties, with the other being a young woman also in her twenties. The young man in question is wearing a frilly white blouse with a bright pink floral vest over it, with high waisted leather pants and matching floral pink boots. He has curly blonde hair that is done up into a high top style that resembles a beehive. His eyebrows are bleached and blend in naturally with his fairer than white complexion. His eyes, however, are a piercing shade of bright blue; almost unnerving against the white canvas of his face. He does, however, have a pleasant smile.

The other woman has long black hair done in dreadlocks, which have silver rings and beads interwoven into them. She is clad in a fine black leather corset overtop a forest green dress that is lined with yellow lacing. She has silver piercings in her ears and one singular stud on the center of her bottom lip. Despite her dark attire, her makeup is bright; neon yellow outlined by silver.

Both of them seem to be completely comfortable in this environment.

I slowly stand up, feeling a little self-conscious under their stares.

"This is your new team," she says. "You know Turquoise Acker, of course. She just recently started working for me - before that she was apprenticed under Cinna, who referred her to me. Of course. He always sends me stunning talent." She gestures to the man. "This is Dion Star. He's got quite an eye on him."

He lifts his chin, smiling. "Not to be associated with a dying star," he says. "My parents just happened to be particularly cruel."

"Or have foresight," Turquoise says.

That almost makes me laugh. Almost. But it does make me crack a genuine smile.

Galeria grins. "And this is Vesta Clio," she says, "a radiant talent, really. She does remarkable things with leather."

Vesta nods. "It's good to meet you," she says. "We've all been working day and night on your dress."

"Speaking of," Galeria says. "I think it's time you saw it."

"By all means," I say.

Galeria walks across the room and to the mannequin. She takes me in for a moment, as if to ensure my certainty, before she undoes the layer covering the mannequin and pulls it off. Beneath it resides a stunning gown, of course - because everything Galeria does is stunning. The dress is a glittering dark sea-green material. Its top is adorned entirely by sequins, though they fade it the closer it reaches to the skirt, which is made of a fine silken material that catches the light. The dress itself is sleeveless, though there is only one strap across the left side, which has a long cape that drapes in sequin coated fabric; which, I realize, shall cover over my stump. Around the waist of the dress is a silvery white belt with a crescent moon in the center of it. It is, to put simply, beautiful.

"Do you like it?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes. It's perfect," I say, smiling.

"Then we ought to get you ready," Galeria says. "If you're ready."

"I am," I console her, even though I am far from ready. "Let's do this."

To my benefit, I look far less worse than I did this morning. The same cannot be said for how I feel inside, but as I look at myself in my reflection, I conclude that I do look good. The dress fits well upon me, albeit with a couple of small adjustments made by my team before my Interview. The cape of the dress drapes over my left shoulder, effectively covering my stub and, for all intense and purposes, completely masks my loss altogether. The cape drapes almost down to my skirt, with the fabric being quite wide, as well; it lays naturally. It tricks the eye into forgetting what is no longer there.

It's a kind sentiment to myself and to any Capitolians watching, but I imagine it won't deter Caesar from asking the tough, unrelenting questions. I just have to brace for it. I remember that Tilda had been present to help me through the questions in my previous Interview. She had sat with me as Galeria dressed me, running through every variety of questions; ranging from my favorite color to outlandish strategies. But she isn't here. I haven't bothered to ask why, not even when Ivoree has popped in and out to remind us of time.

I just try not to think about how the Victors are avoiding me. And why.

Dion is applying some highlighter to my cheeks; a fine silver glow which, admittedly, accentuates my blue eyes. "Oh, you look absolutely stunning," he says. He pulls out some light green eye shadow and applies it in the corner of my eye. "It really does brighten your eyes. Doesn't it?"

Vesta, who is putting on my pearl necklace, nods. "I'd say they're your second prettiest feature."

That causes me to scoff. "Well, then, what's my first?"

"Your neck," Vesta says. "It's long."

"Long necks are attractive?" I counter.

Turquoise kneels down in front of me, helping me put on a pair of silver heels which have straps that wrap around my calves. "You would be surprised," she says.

Galeria is a few steps away, taking me in. "You look beautiful all around," she says. "How are you feeling?"

"Mostly okay," I admit. "I'm just thinking about what Caesar will ask and what will be replayed from the Games."

Dion places a hand over his chest. "Hopefully not having anything to do with those sweet little things from District 12," he says. "My heart just - "

"Dion," Galeria says, tone surprising sharp. She looks back at me.

Turquoise looks up. "My personal policy is to assume the worst and to prepare for it. It lessens the blow of what's to come."

"That's pessimistic," I say, "and it sounds about right."

The door to the room opens and Ivoree steps through, looking a little more relaxed than he had earlier. "You look positively radiant, Ceres. Do you feel radiant?"

I clench my teeth.

Ivoree nods. "Right," he says, cheeks flushing a little. "Alright. We've got half an hour...are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I say.

My team of Stylists finish their adjustments and step back and regard me in awe, admiring me as I stand there. Looking upon my reflection, I conclude that it isn't exactly unwarranted. The dress is absolutely stunning and the silver shoes are comfortable and go well with it. The belt is nicely fitted. My pearl necklace reminds me of home, though feels a little too posh for me - given only women of high statuses wore such finery. Granted, being apart of a Victor's family, I suppose that high status could have applied to us. But my mother never wore such lavish jewelry and my father brought us up in a humble lifestyle.

My ears aren't pierced so I'm not wearing earrings. (Piercings are too great a risk for someone who spends so much of their time in the sea.) My long hair has been done in a fishtail braid, interwoven with silver ribbons, and is draped over my shoulder. My makeup is lovely, as well. Dion and Vesta had both done fine jobs at it. My eyelids are compromised of mostly green and silver, though the under rim of my eye is gold. There is silver highlighter upon my cheekbones, accentuating my blue eyes. And then my lips have a fine coral pink gloss to them; subtle, but enough.

I try smiling. I've been practicing over the last few hours and it has become more or less natural. It certainly looks less frigid and false, even if it is the latter.

"You look beautiful," Galeria assures me. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't ask me that right now," I say, looking at her. "Ask me something Caesar would ask me."

Her lip twitches. "Alright...Ceresea, how does it feel to have won?"

"Wonderful," I manage out. "I'm so grateful to be here now...thanks to..." I trail away, swallowing down bile. "Thanks to the love and support of the Capitol. The affection shown...for myself and Liber...warms my heart. I wish he could be here to see this."

Galeria takes a step closer, touching my arm. "He's going to ask you about killing him, you know," she says.

"I know," I say. "Don't worry...I know."

"And about the others...and your arm."

"I've spent years studying the Games. I know Caesar asks the most horrible questions because they're the most entertaining," I say.

"You know what to do, then," she say. "Just imagine you're talking to me."

"You'd never ask what he would."

"It's pretend," she says. "So, pretend."

God, I do try. In that final half an hour and as I am led out of that room, away from my team, I try my damnedest to pretend. I try pretending to be the girl I had been so many years ago, who had always wanted this. I would sit intently in front of a screen with my various notepads, watching the Interviews of successful Victors and imagining myself in their place. Then I would imagine myself coming home to District 4 to a roaring crowd. My father would be so proud of me. And then I would go up to Finnick and haughtily tell him how I had won. I had proven myself truly better than him.

I never imagined what would come after. I suppose I would keep trying to one up Finnick, because that's how we were back then. But there's nothing to top now, I suppose. We've both won, though, at least, he left the Games physically whole.

I try to set aside those melancholy thoughts and think only of the music that grows louder and louder the closer we are to the stage. I think about the various questions he's going to ask me and what it's going to look like to have me up there. I had been very popular during the Games, as proven by the array of Sponsored gifts I had received - not just from Seneca Crane - but I wonder how that affection has changed now that I have effectively murdered my brother, when I claimed to keep him alive, instead. Yet as we draw closer, I hear them chanting my name, and it hardly sounds like a cry of anger.

"...now, let us give the warmest welcome to the winner of the 68th annual Hunger Games, Ceresea Rythe!"

I shiver as I recall how he had called out my name for my first Interview. I had been nervous, but the stakes had been so much different, then. Well, similar, but different...I had to be charming, for Liber's sake. Now I must be charming for so many others, and now the weight of my conscience is significantly heavier. I take a few calming breaths as I walk across the stage, greeted by flashing lights and an enormous crowd cheering my name and calling out to me. I remember my training - well, sort of training, more like me spending hours of precious time studying Victors and their body languages. I wave to the crowd - not too much - and I smile - hoping it looks real.

Caesar, who is wearing a teal suit that looks horrible along with his deep blue hair, opens his arms to me. He takes my hand and kisses it, raising it high above our heads - I do have to stand on my toes, as the gesture was unexpected - and then back down again. He gestures for us to sit and I do, which I'm grateful for. My head is spinning and I feel sick.

"It is so wonderful to have you back, Ceresea," Caesar says. "You know, I think I speak for everyone in the room when I say that the Games were enormously thrilling this year. All of us were on the edge of our seats for you. Right, folks?"

The crowd cheer in agreement.

I bet it was thrilling for you. You monsters. I smile. "Well, it was certainly thrilling, Caesar," I say.

Caesar's smile remains, though his tone takes on a slower, more grave tune. "Now, it goes without saying, but a few things have changed since you won your Games."

I'm a little surprised that Caesar has brought this up so soon, but I am also grateful - let's get it over with as soon as possible. Let's get this all over and done with. I open my mouth to remark on Liber, but Caesar cuts me off.

"I notice your Stylist added a nice little cape to cover your shoulder," he says, "but I think we all agree how taken aback we were when you lost your arm."

My arm...that's the great change? The loss?

I bite back the urge to say something cold. "Yes...yes, I did lose my arm," I say, slowly.

"Talk me through it," Caesar says, leaning forward. "You're spinning in the water, you presumably can't see anything. You must have been so terrified."

I feel dizzy as I recollect the feeling of the crocodile rolling with me. I hadn't been able to see anything, due to it being translucent, but the spinning had blurred the entire world around me. It was a miracle I had lodged my rapala into the Mutt's eye, but not before I'd stabbed myself in the arm a few times. "I knew...I knew what to do, for the most part," I say. "In District 4, we have had crocodile attacks before. They're incredibly rare, but one year I remember a crocodile killing two of our fishermen, and so we had to send more men out on boats to find it and kill it before there could be anymore casualties. It pulled another man into the death roll, but it was by his head, so there was no surviving that..."

"But you survived it," Caesar says. "Most impressively, too."

On the screen behind me, I am forced to take in the sight of me stumbling out of the water, blood guzzling out of my open wound; practically a waterfall of it. I look away, trying to focus on Caesar, but he's watching the screen. I look down to the crowd, actively seeking out Galeria. She's there, looking at me. "My father taught me how to survive. He told me to twist with the death roll if I could, but, above all else, to not fight back. If I accidentally twist one way, then any part of me is as good as gone," I say. "And go for the eyes."

It is, however, with some satisfaction that the images change to that of me stabbing the rapala through the Mutt's eye. To my displeasure, it did not die. It simply swam off, disappearing through one of the tunnels as I swam up to the surface.

"It was quite impressive," Caesar says. "The eyes...it's incredible you managed to get it. I've always been squeamish to eyes myself."

"The same can be said for sharks," I admit. "Their gills and their eyes are a weakness."

"Sounds to me like you've got a lot of dangerous creatures in District 4. Remind me never to visit," Caesar says, earning an array of laughter from his audience. "Well, the crocodiles, sharks, and you, of course." He places a hand over his heart. "Not that I am comparing a lovely girl like you to such ghastly creatures by appearance."

"You compared me to apex predators. I'm honored," I say, feeling a little like me as I answer.

The crowd laughs.

"Now, would you mind if..." Caesar does a subtle flipping motion of an imaginary cape over his shoulder.

I clench my teeth together, feeling a small thing of rage coil within me. I'd like to tell him to go to hell, along with the rest of the people who are cheering, but I know better. Play the game. I grab the cape and pull it enough so that my stump is visible, which causes a wide array of sympathetic aww's and even a few gasps. Caesar's eyes widen to the sight of it, though I don't allow it to dawdle. I lower the cape back down.

"It's a miracle you're alive," he says. "That's quite an impressive loss."

"It is," I say. "But it pales in comparison to other things."

"You refer to Liber," Caesar says.

I know Liber is behind me now; his face flashing across the screen. I don't look. I refuse. "Yes."

"Forgive me, Ceresea...you did kill him," he says. "In our previous Interview, you discussed keeping him safe. I imagine his betrayal changed a few things."

"I didn't expect it," I admit.

"Neither did we," Caesar says. "He swore to protect you, as well, but it seemed that he was being a big liar."

My heart starts to hammer and the corners of my eyes are whitening. I clench my hand over my lap. I force myself to nod.

Caesar continues. "After the betrayal, you even agreed to keep Rust alive for Birch. Did you intend on killing your brother, then?"

"I didn't think I would be making it out," I say. Birch's blistered and swollen face flashes across my vision and I nearly start to wheeze. Calm. Snow is watching. Everyone is. "I figured I would die before it reached that point. Nellie would outlive me, and Rust would win. For Birch. But it didn't happen that way...and in the cave, in the end, I think what I wanted was to understand why he betrayed me. I never wanted to kill him."

"You did, though," Caesar says. "Was it justice for Rust? For yourself?"

"It was..." I trail, accidentally finding my father's face in the crowd. His face is stoic and his gaze is icy, yet I imagine him standing in my room in the medical wing, unable to even look at me before he stormed out. I look away. "I didn't realize what I was doing. It was just instinct, fighting back...and I'd forgotten I'd poisoned my spearhead. I wasn't even thinking. By the time I realized it, it was too late."

Caesar's eyes soften and the crowd reacts in aww's. "Such a terrible tragedy," he says. "And yet, even despite it all, you gave him a merciful death. Why?"

"Because he was my brother," I say.

"He left you to the crocodile," Caesar says. "No one would have faulted you for doing the same."

"He was my brother," I repeat. "I couldn't let him die like that."

"Such a noble sister you are," Caesar says. "I imagine your father feels such deep pride for your integrity."

At that, I see all white. Caesar isn't there anymore and I'm trapped in a flashing vision of my spear against Liber's trident. Even with my one arm, I had been able to best him - proving, in my own way, that I truly was superior to him. Even with his advantages over me, he had been unable to hold his own. He had faltered. Without my poisoned spearhead, I might have exhausted myself, and then he would have had the upper hand. But regardless on the circumstance, I had bested him. I had killed him. And in my room, my father had stared at me as if I were a monster...because I was one. Liber and I were both monsters in our own right. But he had been young and frightened and just a boy. What he did I may never forgive, but I almost understand.

I think maybe he feared me rethinking keeping him alive, because he knew that I could easily beat him. So he had opted to cut his losses and to take me out. It was a simple thing to do. I imagine almost anyone would have done it...even I had, in the end.

Still...his dead body being dragged away by the crocodile -

"Are you alright?"

I blink. Caesar is there again, brow knit together. "I'm sorry," I say, forcing my stiff body to slacken. "I was just thinking about my brother."

"No doubt you are still in mourning," Caesar says. "It was such a terrible fate." He claps his hands together. "Now, to lighten the mood, let's discuss the highlights of the Games - including the first crocodile you killed..."

It carries on for what feels like hours. The events of the Games carry out on the screen behind me, as Caesar recounts it all with me, and I have no choice but to discuss my feelings on the matter. More and more I feel myself slipping away, as I keep smiling and playing along. I feel the bile in my throat. Less and less I feel like myself, the confidence dwindling. But I force it to stay erect, because I can't falter. President Snow is watching, as well as all of Panem...I have to play along a little while longer.

And when it does end, in which Caesar kisses my hand and bids me farewell, I feel relief. So much so, that once I am backstage and out of the public eye, I all but go limp. I lean against the wall for support, with Ivoree quickly coming up beside me.

"Are you alr - sorry, stupid question," he says.

"No, it's not," I say, meeting his gaze. "I'm not okay, Ivoree."

"I know you aren't," he admits, eyes sad. "Just think. Come tomorrow, you'll be on the train back home."

"And then what?" I manage out.

"I don't know," he says. "But let's get you back to your room. Galeria can help you change..."

"And my dad...I imagine he won't come to see me tonight," I say.

"I imagine not," Ivoree says, supporting me as we walk together. "I'm sorry."

I close my eyes, fighting back against the whiteness of my vision. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

(a/n): This chapter was fun to write! Well, fun in that I loved writing the dynamics of these characters. Mags was a joy to write for because she's such a pure and wonderful bean, and gave me a reprieve from the absolute angst of everything going on. Next chapter is going to be Ceres returning home to District 4 and, ooh boy, seeing her mother again. There will also be more Finnick and Ceres next chapter! So look forward to them, because I have so much planned for these concluding chapters, and I am bursting at the seams with excitement. ^^ As stated prior, it'll be between 24-27 chapters in total, so we're nearing the end! ^^ Hard to believe I started this story four years ago and its first part is ending and a second part is beginning. Ironically, the second part might very well be starting in 2022! So a new year, a new story to unfold. XD Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! ^^ Please favorite, follow, and review if you enjoy!

CASTING:

Turquoise Acker: Nana Komatsu

Vesta Clio: Aleyse Shannon

Dion Star: John McCrea

Review replies

rikiarin: So fun fact, I wrote the scene between Ceres and Snow in three different ways. The version that was published, one where Ceres is having an anxiety attack and can barely hear what he's saying, and then a version where she outright confronts him. I read over these three different versions, then compared where each outcome would eventually lead to. I have a pathway for Reap What We Sow and then its sequels, though I knew Ceres' interaction with Snow would effect future outcomes. I decided to go with Ceres' more focused and honed reaction because it felt more her. Ceres confronting Snow would have definitely been something the Ceres from the earlier chapters would have done. And I decided to save Ceres' anxiety attack for when she's alone with her thoughts and isn't trying to put up an act for someone else. So I did struggle with that decision, because I didn't want to go with a Mary-Sue approach of Ceres being cool as a cucumber with scary ass Snow, but I also knew that, from a traumatized standpoint, she's hyper fixated on her family and is trying to stay focused. So it was a lil sacrifice for the greater good. XD And honestly thank you so much, it really makes me so happy that you appreciate the family and friendship dynamics! We'll be seeing a great deal of Ceres' family in the sequel, particularly her mother. We'll also be seeing more dynamics between Ceres and canonical characters, as well as some OC's that are gonna come into play. :)

the. apple .seed: Thank you so much! I am always so touched by your reviews! ^^ Rheon has become one of those characters who just came naturally. I do legitimately have to ponder certain voices, but Rheon's just feels right. And Snow was quite a doozy! I spent a great deal of time workshopping that scene because I wasn't sure how Ceres was going to handle it, as well as being sure that I actually got his voice right. XD It wasn't easy, but it was legitimately fun! And I look forward to writing him more in the future. ;)